


Long Live The King

by nessbess



Series: Werewolves of Chicago [9]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Werewolf!Ian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-11 23:51:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2087706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessbess/pseuds/nessbess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Ian died, there was nothing for him. He'd thought, after the hunters... He'd thought that was the end, that Ian was safe. That they were safe. He'd never imagined - he'd been so complacent - so fucking stupid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live The King

"Mandy! Get the damn door!" Mickey hollered, before cursing when he remembered that, actually, he was the only one home. Svetlana was off somewhere with her lazy-eyed girlfriend and Mandy was at work in the waffle place with the stupid-ass squirrels. Ian was having brotherly bonding or some shit that happy families did, and Mickey... Mickey was home alone. 

Which meant he actually had to answer the door.

Fuck.

He debated ignoring it, but the insistent knocking was an orbitoclast digging into his hungover brain. 

"Alright!" he yelled as he paused his game and flung aside the control. "I'm coming! Fuckin' Christ!"

When he threw open the door, Mickey hesitated, eyeing the man on his porch. He looked vastly out of place in the South Side - tall and classically handsome, with wavy brown hair and twinkling eyes, a strong jaw jutting over a solid build that was emphasized by the cut of his crisp suit. Mickey didn't know suits, but he was willing to bet that this one had some hoity-toity name with a several thousand-dollar price tag. He was a walking plea for a mugging. Mickey hated him on sight.

"The fuck do you want?" he demanded.

"Hello," Shiny Shoes said primly. A winning smile flashed his gleaming pearly-whites. "I'm looking for Michael Milkovich." 

"Wrong house," Mickey said easily, moving to shut the door. One shiny shoe wedged into the doorframe, blocking Mickey's efforts with a jarring  _thud_ that sent the door wobbling a few inches in the wrong direction. 

"Hello, Mickey," he said with a friendly smile that somehow seemed to threaten grievous pain. No one had teeth that perfect outside of a toothpaste advert. It just wasn't natural. "I believe we have business to discuss."

Mickey's eyebrows took flight. "I really don't think we do." Nobody with as much money as Shiny Shoes seemed to advertise would have business with a lowlife dealer and thug. There were professionals who could provide better services to those who had the money. 

The man's friendly expression closed off. "That wasn't a suggestion," he said darkly. With an impossibly strong shove, Mickey was thrown back as his front door flew open, crashing into the wall. The doorknob left behind a gaping hole in the drywall.

Gasping, Mickey picked himself up from his sprawl, gauging that he was only winded and not injured apart from a bruise where his ever-present gun had dug into the small of his back. Mentally cursing his own stupidity, Mickey drew the gun. The click of the safety was the only warning he gave before unloading a clip into the intruder. 

Although he jerked with the impact of each shot, Shiny Shoes didn't seem hindered by the bullets in the slightest. Even as Mickey watched, the flow of blood slowed to a sluggish stop as the wounds closed, the bullets falling to the wooden floor with hollow sounding clunks. 

"Fuck," he breathed with dawning realization as the man's eyes shone red. The blood drained from his face. "You're the alpha."

~*~

Ian froze halfway down the block and tentatively sniffed at the air, catching the scent lingering on the breeze. It's familiarity burned within his nostrils as though he had just snorted salt. It was a scent he hadn't smelled since...

He shook the thought from his mind, continuing down the street. It didn't do to dwell on the past, and he was probably mistaken besides. As a wolf, it was a smell he had encountered only once before, and that had been months ago. 

With every step closer to the Milkovich house, the scent and his apprehension grew stronger. He broke into a stumbling jog as anxiety bubbled up within him. He wanted to get to Mickey just as much as he wanted to turn tail and flee.

The door opened on his third knock - by none other than Kenyatta, Ian was surprised to see. Ian eyed Kenyatta warily as he stood in the doorway, his broad face betraying no emotion. Ian hadn't seen the other man since he'd almost torn out his throat after threatening Mandy. While Kenyatta had seemed afraid of Ian the last time he'd seen him, more notable now was his complete disinterest in his arrival. It cemented in Ian's mind that he had been expected and put him further on guard.

"Mickey in?" he asked casually, knowing full well the answer. Kenyatta jerked his head in a loose gesture for Ian to enter and stepped aside.

Ian ignored Kenyatta as the taller man melted into the shadows of the dingy living room, for his eyes had fixed upon the two other figures within. Tied to one of the rickety kitchen chairs sat Mickey, his arms pinned to is sides and a thick gag stuffed in his mouth - a dark tee that Ian recognized with a jolt by the eight ball design across its front. He remembered leaving that shirt here, after a night of getting high and drunk and the clumsy touches that come when your senses are dulled and your minds soaring amongst the stars. There was a shirt of Mickey's in his own home after that night - unwashed and grubby and covered in questionable stains. One that Ian had no intentions of ever giving back. Ian knew that that shirt was saturated with Mickey's scent - just as this one would be covered in his own. His vision clouded with rage as a low snarl built in his throat.

"Ian!" the man standing above Mickey beamed jovially. "Officially not 'Lip: anymore, isn't it? I was hoping that you wouldn't be too long in joining us."

In a drastic contrast to the other man's cheerful manner, Ian was trembling with a rage so strong that he found it difficult to formulate words. "Lewis," he ground out through gritted fangs, more an accusation than a greeting. It had been many months since Basic Training - since he'd met this man and, in his cloud of misery, fallen into his web - but he would always remember that voice, that face, that stench. 

"I was hurt, you know, when you just left me," the alpha said blandly. "You know I only turned you so that neither of us would have to be alone again. And for what?" his expression hardened. "You leave me to run back to this shit, who'd already abandoned you, who was the reason you were so alone in the first place! You think that he has more to offer you than me?" he demanded, giving Mickey's chair a swift kick.

Mickey jerked hard against his bindings, frothing angrily around his gag as the chair swayed dangerously. Ian almost wished him free, to unleash the shorter man's wrath against the unsuspecting alpha - but no. Comparatively fragile and  _human_ that Mickey was, Ian's mind shied away from the caboose of that train of thought. 

Ian's growl sharpened as he took a half step towards them, wanting to leap in and tear Mickey from the other wolf's reach. The alpha's grin turned shark-like in response.

"Oh, don't worry about him," he said easily. "He's just here as collateral, to ensure your cooperation. He gave an indulgent sort of smile. "He stinks of you, you know. Positively saturated in your scent... How nice it must be, to find your mate when you're both so young," he tilted his head thoughtfully, eyeing Mickey where he sat in his bindings.

Mickey glowered back, yelling something through his gag that made the alpha sneer. 

"All I want is for you to come back to me," he told Ian. "Join my pack the way you were meant to, as my beta, the way nature intended." Lewis began to pace, his expression agitated. 

"Do you have any idea what it's like," he demanded, "to spend every waking moment of your life hated and feared because of what you are?" Ian almost snorted. He had, after all, grown up a gay man in the South Side. "Humans are so weak," the alpha continued, "so delicate.  _We_ are the master race. We have the power to wipe them all out, to make them all like  _us_ , to never have to live in fear again. We have the power, but we don't have the numbers."

He chuckled at Mickey as the thug struggled against his bonds. "Return to me, Ian," he purred temptingly. "If you behave, maybe I won't kill him. He does have a certain spirit to him, doesn't he?" He gave an indifferent shrug before threading his fingers through Mickey's thick hair. Ian bristled. He knew that the other werewolf's scent would cling to Mickey, and he despised the thought of it. Beneath the alpha's stroking hand, Mickey had frozen, watching Ian with wide eyes. "Maybe I'll keep him as a pet," the alpha continued cheerfully, seeming oblivious to the werewolf spitting with rage in front of him.

A ragged snarl tore through Ian's throat at the thought of Lewis anywhere near Mickey. Mickey was strong, in the street sense, a good fighter and commanding respect, a survivor, but Ian knew that he was no match for a werewolf, let alone the alpha. The thought of Mickey, chained like a dog at Lewis's ankles while Ian was forced to kill more children at the orders of this alpha... he had only recently stopped having nightmares of the boy, the way his bones had snapped between his jaws, the thrill of fresh blood on his tongue...

Behind them, Kenyatta loomed in the shadows, his brilliant blue eyes twin pricks of light piercing through the darkness.

"It was lucky Kenyatta found me, you know," Lewis continued conversationally, absentmindedly petting Mickey. "He sought me out with tales of this 'Ian Gallagher' who'd almost torn out his throat, wanting to be strong like him, strong enough to get his revenge.

"His words were sweet music to me. The bite was his reward, though of course I'd never allow him to kill such a work of art," his eyes danced hungrily over Ian's form. "I'd almost given up hope of ever finding you again, you know. You were the first. The first werewolf I ever turned, and you were so strong -" he broke off, eyes closed in a blissful moan before he turned back to Ian. "Not only a strong wolf - the way you hunted that miserable human, killed him so easily... it was a thing of beauty - but a strong lover, as well. Forceful and caring all at once." He frowned at Mickey, fingers fisting into his hair to pull his head back, bearing his throat. His eyes gleamed red, fangs elongating. "Such a pity that you've found your mate," he said. "Come back to me, and I'll let him live. Maybe I'll even make him like us, as a special treat," he grinned.

Before he was aware of moving, Ian had lunged forwards, knocking Mickey aside as he sprang onto the alpha in a snarl of teeth and claws. He had the element of surprise, sinking his teeth into Lewis's shoulder though the layers of suit, but the alpha rallied quickly, flinging Ian across the room. He toppled over the back of though couch, slamming into the wall with a crunch and a whimper before tumbling out of sight. 

Laying with his cheek pressed to the rug, arms pinned to his sides and bound to the chair, Mickey was helpless to do anything but watch as, with the sound of ripping fabric, Ian pulled himself up onto the back of the couch, crouched to spring. There was thunder in his throat and a challenge in the cobalt flare of his eyes. 

Kenyatta snapped his jaws, starting forwards, but Lewis held him back with a sharp command. "He is mine," the alpha growled. "The pup needs to be taught not to bite the hand." Bristling even in his submission, Kenyatta retreated to the shadows to resume his silent vigil. 

Popping his neck, the alpha released a bellowing roar that Mickey could feel vibrating through his marrow. He hunched in on himself, but instead of shrinking, he seemed to grow. The alpha loomed bigger and bigger, his suit ripping at the seams as his body buckled and bulged, sprouting thick, dark fur. His face squashed and lengthened, his bones shifting with sharp cracks as he dropped onto all fours. A long tail streamed behind the colossal wolf that stood in the man's place, his eyes gleaming a blood red.

Ian froze for a long moment, sizing up the alpha's stronger build. Mickey held his breath, terrified of what could happen. If Ian attacked, he would surely die. If he didn't, he would be forced to join this wolf's pack, forced to kill again and again. Ian was too caring, too gentle of heart. Mickey knew that if he were forced to kill another innocent, it would destroy him.

The smaller wolf's gaze sharpened as he reached his decision, his eyes briefly searching Mickey's before his expression steeled and he launched himself at the alpha.

Mickey's sharp cry was lost in his gag. This was it - Ian was going to be torn to pieces before his very eyes. The kid was a scrapper, but there was no way. No way a mere beta could withstand an alpha, regardless of whether or not he had sworn him his allegiance. This was the end.

Mickey squeezed his eyes tightly together. When it came down to it, he'd always known that he was a coward. He couldn't do it. Not even for Ian. He couldn't watch him die.

He heard the wet sound of flesh tearing, a high pitched whimper, and he yelled again, feeling the burn of tears press at the back of his throat. This was it. Mickey was tied to a chair, helpless, while the stupid fucking love of his stupid fucking life was torn to pieces in the middle of his stupid fucking living room. There was a yelp of pain and Mickey rubbed his face against the carpet, grounding himself in the abrasive texture and the faint smell of meth, not nearly strong enough to mask the growing stench of carnage. He breathed deeply, fighting down the pain low in his gut as he tried to shut out the sounds of the fighting wolves; the snapping of jaws and tearing of claws and the pained whines and growls.

If Ian died - 

If Ian died, there was nothing for him. He'd thought, after the hunters... He'd thought that was the end, that Ian was safe. That _they_ were safe. He'd never imagined - he'd been so complacent - so fucking stupid. 

If Ian died, he just couldn't do it.

The silence came so suddenly, he almost didn't notice it. Damp fingers trailed across his cheek, catching the tears he hadn't realized he had shed and leaving a sticky trail of blood in their wake. Deftly, the fingers tugged the gag from his mouth and untied his bindings. Mickey lay flopped against the carpet, boneless in his misery. His eyes remained closed, too afraid of what he would see if he opened them.

"Mick..." There was a desperate edge to the soft, pleading voice that had Mickey snapping open his eye so quickly that he momentarily blinded himself.

When his vision cleared, the first thing he noticed was a knee, jeans soaked in blood, laying close to his face. It was such a familiar,  _beautiful_ knee that Mickey could have fucking kissed it, he was so glad to see it. He scrambled to his own knees, shuffling closer to where Ian sat slumped against the wall. The kid looked exhausted, covered in blood, bites, and scratches, but he looked up at Mickey with a dazed, happy smile.

Mickey scowled and punched Ian hard in the shoulder. "You're a fucking dick," he snapped. "Don't you fucking - don't you - _fuck_ ," he breathed and looked away, blinking hard. He furiously rubbed a finger under his nose.

"Hey," Ian caught his attention, tangling his fingers in the neck of the older boy's shirt."'m okay. 't's over," he slurred, nudging the body of the alpha with his toe.

Mickey glanced at the body and grimaced. He'd seen some pretty hardcore shit in his time, but seeing the alpha, half-transformed with his tongue and his guts sticking out was fucking nasty. 

Ian stared at Mickey. He could see every pale, almost invisible freckle on his face. He could have told you the exact order that the drops of sweat beaded on his upper lip. There was a family of six mice living beneath the floor boards of the neighbour's house. Two streets over, a girl named Rae was being scolded for putting her mom's lipstick on the cat. He could hear  _everything_. He could smell and see everything.

"What's happening to me?" he marveled in a whisper, afraid to speak any louder, afraid that his eardrums would shatter.

"You killed the alpha," Mickey said as he blinked back at Ian. The redhead's wounds had already begun to heal as Kenyatta looked on in silent horror. "You'll be fine in a bit, just need to get used to the adjustment." A small, relieved smile grew on his face. Tears still clung to his lashes, blood streaking across his cheek and on his lips, his hair mussed. Ian thought he looked fucking beautiful. "Now you're the alpha, douchebag," he chuckled fondly. "Long live the king."

**Author's Note:**

> And again we experience my great ineptitude at writing action scenes - I kind of took the easy way out on this one. 
> 
> We've almost reached the end, just one more fluffy part to go. Cakes and a big cup of tea to everyone who's still soldiering through this series with me, you're all champs!


End file.
